


Erase/Rewind

by phaelsafe



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:17:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phaelsafe/pseuds/phaelsafe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack goes looking for Pitch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erase/Rewind

**Author's Note:**

> Not proofread. Minor spoilers for the books if you squint. Title from a Cardigans song of the same name.

Jack knows the way now. Or maybe the King of Nightmares specifically left the path open to him. 

He finds the breach easily, uninviting as it is, almost physically repelling him away. He controls his fall, plunging through the updrafts into the darkness. The air turns frigid the further he falls into the world -- not that a little chill bothers Jack in the slightest. 

Finally, he lands on the bridge in middle of the yawning cavern. Bright light shines from somewhere, slashing through the haze, and Jack hears the sound of hooves striking against rock as the nightmares dash about the shadows around him. Dozens of cages still hang suspended around the chamber, empty of the jewel-tone fairies since he helped them regain their ability to fly. They look far too old to have recently been set up, and Jack wonders what was kept in them prior to this attempted grab for power. 

Pitch manages somehow to both slump into and sprawl across the twisted debris of what had been a small replica of North's globe. The scattered light glints off his silver eyes as he glares sideways at Jack. "Come to gloat, have you?" 

Jack opens his mouth, but a mare rushes him from behind. He swings his staff toward her without looking away from his real target, ready to smite the charging horse into nothing. She darts away suddenly, lashing out at him with a sharp flick of her tail. Pain prickles along his neck and face, and Jack scowls as she prances up to Pitch to nuzzle the hand he holds out to her. "I thought they...." 

"What? Attacked me?" Pitch says, his voice harsh with disbelief. With a wave of his hand, the nightmare trots away, nickering as she disperses into a cloud of glittering onyx dust. "Don't be ridiculous. They could never hurt me, would never stand against me." Then he sighs, sounding so full of resignation. "What do you want, Frost?" 

When Jack glances up, he finds Pitch watching him, wary yet curious. He takes several cautious steps forward, expecting Pitch to come after him much like the nightmare had. "I- came to check up on you." 

Pitch abruptly swings around, sitting upright and looking far more regal than the pitiful sulky creature he'd been only a few moments before. "I do not need your pity, and I certainly don't want _your_ company." 

Jack snorts. He grabs onto a drafty current and hovers so that he is level with Pitch. "If that were true, how did I manage to get here?" 

"This is where lost things fall to. Anyone with enough doubt in their heart can find their way here, to be swallowed up by the shadows," replies Pitch, his voice even. Then he lifts an eyebrow. "What doubts do you harbor, Jack Frost?" 

Jack refuses to lend Pitch his fear, to give the other spirit any advantage. He shoves it all away with a carefree grin, then drifts nearer. "I doubt you're nearly as evil as the other guardians say." 

His smile turns into a smirk and he alights on the landing close to Pitch, standing at the edge of the elevated foundation that had housed the globe. "Why else would you care what the children think of you." 

The light in the space between them dims as Pitch snarls, "I mean for them to fear me, you fool." 

"Well, they don't," Jack says, striding forward until he stands before the seated king. 

Pitch's eyes spark with fury but he looks away, his hands clutching at the ruined metal. Despite his height, his anger, the Nightmare King looks incredibly small sitting in the remnants of his defeat. "I will not be forced back into obscurity by them, left alone to roam the cold void by the guardians-" 

"I'm not afraid of you," Jack interrupts. 

"And yet, you feel the need to keep saying that." 

Jack glances at his staff, then decisively sets it aside. He frames Pitch's face with his hands, but they pass right through, making Pitch shudder. Rime spreads from the intangible touch, though, curling along his drab skin, melting around obvious lines that track down his cheeks. Jack can't help but smile at the evidence; he certainly feels justified. "Evil my ass." 

Pitch flinches at the words, and, as he tries to turn away, phantom shadows push at Jack in vain. Jack won't have any of that; he forces his grip substantial, but that also allows Pitch to grab at his wrists and squeeze until his bones begin to creak. Pitch glares at Jack, dark and menacing, though his tone borders on petulance when he mutters, "Like you have any idea-" 

Jack rolls his eyes. "I've existed like this for three hundred years. Not as long as you have, maybe, but long enough that I did consider your offer. I know what it's like to be overlooked," he says, swiping his thumbs across Pitch's cheeks, erasing the lines and shattering the frost. "To be forgotten." 

Pitch blinks in confusion, then his expression crumbles and he looks stricken by his own painful memories. He yanks Jack's hands down and snaps, "You have no _earthly_ idea what I've been through, what I am. I am not here because of some courageous or honorable act like the rest of you... guardians." 

"Well, now I _know_ that's not true," Jack says. If his hands weren't held fast, he'd cross his arms across his chest, all smug-like. "The Moon told me, though that's beside the point. Your past might be relevant to who you are but it doesn't have to define you." 

"You realize that my core has been corrupted, don't you, Guardian?" Pitch says, his eyes narrowing. 

"It's a little ironic that there's a Christmas song dedicated to the color of your eyes." 

"What?" 

"'Silver and Gold'? I spent too much time wandering through the streets during the holidays. 'How do you measure it's worth?' ...I guess you're not an Ives fan." 

Pitch shoves Jack away, but Jack sees his opening and twists around to catch Pitch by the wrists. He leans forward, pinning Pitch's hands between them. 

Pitch disappears into the shadows, leaving Jack hanging mid-air for a split second before he wings backward to settle once more on solid ground. His eyes dart around to each crevice, any darkened expanse that the other spirit could emerge from. Arctic fingers race up his spine, and Jack whirls around, kicking his staff back into hand with a clever twist of ankle, ready to fight, but he finds no one there though. 

"What game are you playing at this time, Jack?" The words converge on Jack, coming from within the shadows, pulsing and echoing with an odd, abstract rhythm. 

"Certainly not Hide-and-Seek," Jack mutters, making his way down the stairs as his eyes sweep the vaulted arches overhead. "Why don't you come here and find out?" 

One of the shadows he casts suddenly stretches down the path, shifting and bending into a silhouette that is not his own. It snaps back and Jack bumps right into Pitch. 

Pitch snatches the staff out of Jack's hands and sends it clattering to the ground, well out of reach. Jack shrugs, then shoves his hand through the other spirit's chest. A tremor runs through Pitch, and Jack wiggles his fingers. "Yeah, I never got used to it either. It feels so strange having another lifeforce slam through you, brimming with hopes and dreams and fears, filling you up before disappearing and leaving you feeling so very empty... invisible." 

Jack's hand is pushed out then, and not of his own accord, repelled away by a gentle yet insistent force as Pitch becomes solid again. Pitch's eyes go wide, and Jack catches him when his knees buckle. "Jack... what have you done?" 

"I told them your story. Children have so much imagination, so much compassion," Jack says, smiling as he steadies Pitch. "Lots of forgiveness, too, floating around those tiny, shining minds. They really do want to believe the best of others." 

"That was not your story to share!" Pitch is warmer now, his skin less ghastly. 

Jack rolls his eyes and explains. "It's no longer yours either. We're legends, our stories belong to everyone. And considering all that you've done, people deserve to know how Kozmotis Pitchiner, valiant defender of the Golden Age, became the freaking Bogeyman." 

"Why would you do this?" 

"I _see_ you, King of Nightmares. I see you just fine," Jack hisses. He reaches up, curves his palm around Pitch's jaw. "Besides, 'what goes together better than Cold and Dark?'" 

"I was _trying_ to tempt you to my side, against those wretched do-gooders," Pitch says, flags of color forming high upon his cheeks. He curls around Jack with a gasp, and they sink to the floor. 

A huff escapes from Jack, but he slips his thumb beneath Pitch's chin and lifts. Their eyes meet, and despite his rising temperature, Pitch doesn't seem to take any notice of how cold Jack's touch really is. "At least that part of your insidious plan worked." 

"How is repeating my words going to sway _me_? I meant none of it." 

"Yes, you did. I know you did," Jack insists. 

Pitch glances away, then growls, "This changes _nothing._ " 

"Maybe," Jack says. He slides his hand inside the black robe to press against warm, solid skin, feeling the steady beat of Pitch's heart. "At least one thing has changed: you may still be able to control the nightmares, but they no longer control you." 

There's an odd texture to the flesh beneath Jack's palm, an uneven circle of smooth skin. His eyebrows furrow as he frowns, and he brushes aside Pitch's collar for a better look. A scar, more like burned tissue than a poorly healed wound, rests over the other man's heart. He tilts his head, not entirely certain of what he's seeing, and his curious eyes dart up for an explanation. 

"Oh, that old thing? Comes with the territory, I suppose... scattering stellar aristocrats beyond the boundaries of space and trying to turn their disgustingly perfect son into the next nightmare prince.... What, the Moon didn't tell you that part of the story?" 

Something is wrong. Jack feels the air shift with a dreadful hollowness that seems to leech the color back out of Pitch's skin. 

"If all we needed was the simple belief of children to exist, then you and I would have faded away long ago. But, we're so much more than that." 

Pitch removes Jack's hand, then he straightens out the front of the other spirit's hoodie, sweeping his palms out across the dark blue material as though he can brush away the patterns of frost. "Nobody else defines who I am -- not the nightmares, not the children, and-" Pitch glances back up and their eyes lock "-not you. You can't fix me, Jack. You can't _save_ me." 

"But-" 

"You cannot change me, who I am," Pitch adds, his voice rising. "Because I don't want to change." 

"I came to help," Jack says, hurt flashing in Jack's eyes, and his lips settle into an irritated line. He's stubborn though, and he lifts his chin before shifting further onto his knees. 

Jack kisses Pitch. It's not much more than a simple press of mouths, and Pitch startles at the touch. A broken noise escapes from him and his dark lashes flutter shut, his hands gripping at Jack's shoulders. 

The all too familiar sound strikes a desolate chord within Jack, and his chest contracts sharply, spurring him on. He coaxes the kiss into something deeper, suddenly feeling needy as Pitch returns the kiss. Shadows pull at him once more, feeling much too real -- a glossy slide of smoke over skin -- and tugging him closer. 

Without warning, a penetrating chill spreads into Jack, and not even he can bear a temperature of such degree. Jack flinches as filaments creep up his neck and over his cheek, latching onto him and digging into his flesh, but it is Pitch who breaks their contact, his eyes guilty and pleading, his hands coming up as though he expects retaliation as he backs away. 

"No, wait!" Jack reaches out, but as they touch, the bone-aching shadows crawl across his knuckles, and the color begins to fade from his skin. Pitch wrenches his hand away and drops his arms to his side. "Pitch, I just want to help." 

"There is no help for me," Pitch says, his expression indifferent. He turns away, casually tossing back over his shoulder as he is swallowed back up by the darkness, "Fear may never die but, given time, it will inevitably fade away into nothing more than a bad dream." 

Despite the cold that had radiated from him, Pitch's fingers had been warm. Jack opens his mouth, but from somewhere within the gloom Pitch answers before the winter spirit can call out. 

"You know your way out."


End file.
